


A Constant

by RumRollins (GreyStained)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 11:24:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11690622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyStained/pseuds/RumRollins
Summary: A night out, Jack's thoughts, and the taste of amaretto on his not-boyfriend's lips.





	A Constant

**Author's Note:**

> Originally based on this post:
> 
> Meet Jack Rollins, 6'2" and 230~ lbs, and his tiny Italian boyfriend who takes up 80% of the bed
> 
> Got away from me quick. But first fic, hell yeah! Send your thoughts! <3

It’s their typical routine tonight. They go out to the bar with two or three of the other guys, sit at their standard booth(where people now know not to sit) and recap the day, just talk and drink and laugh for hours. Always the same bar, the same booth, the same drinks even; Brock will drink Godfathers and straight whiskey till he’s pink in the face and giggling like a maniac at every other sentence, and Jack, the lame bastard who knows his limits, sticks to dark beers and water. Brock pokes him for it at least once a night, but it’s always him that staggers out of the bar when they leave, so Jack rarely bothers with a remark.

  
The group retires one by one in the same pattern, too. Anders, if she tags along, is always first to go. Then Maxwell and Ferris leave around the same time, but Ferris has recently started staying behind, as late as 10. But no matter the little details that variate, it’s always Jack and Brock who are the last out. The have conversations and gossip of their own, things they wouldn’t particularly share with the others. Reminiscing and recalling good stories, briefly touching on the less-good ones. Ultimately, they reach a point in the night where they both go quiet, muscled thigh pressed to thigh while they drink in companionable silence. Jack admits it to himself and only himself that he likes this better than when the other guys hang around.

  
They leave fifteen minutes before last call, Jack’s huge arm wrapped around Brock’s shoulders as he guides them out onto the street. It’s between going to his apartment and Brock’s, but Brock rarely suggests they go back to his place. Jack’s seen it before only once; muted gray tones, unloved. If it weren’t for the mudprints by the door and the consistent clutter of mugs and silverware in the sink, Jack would’ve considered it uninhabited. He understands why Brock avoids it. Stumbling down the sidewalk, they’ll curl toward each other without thinking, occasionally breaking the silence to make an observation about the world around them(“S'cold out tonight”, and “We could probably go somewhere else next time,” and “There were two cats going at it over by that dumpster last week”). An outsider looking in might’ve seen this routine as mundane, unhealthy, just a bit depressing, but doing the work that they did, this one simple constant was something to latch onto. Something to cherish.

  
Jack lets them into his apartment fifteen minutes later, hand slipping just a little when he aims for the keyhole. They enter and visibly relax, sloughing off whatever remaining stress they had. Brock lingers in Jack’s half embrace for a moment, then pulls away to carelessly toe off his boots.

  
“I think it’s time to turn in,” Jack decides, voice slow.

  
Brock turns at the sound of his voice, scanning Jack’s face. Sometimes when Jack says that, it’s just as it means– this isn’t one of those times, though, the subtle anticipation prevalent in the younger man’s eyes. Brock nods once and loosely takes Jack’s hand without preamble, shuffling quietly toward the bedroom.

  
This is when things aren’t as consistent. Sometimes they’ll pause by the bed, give each other a quiet look before they both make the first move, simultaneously leaning in for a harsh kiss that tastes of amaretto and beer. Jack will slot a thigh between Brock’s considerably smaller legs and they’ll get off that way, rutting against each other and falling against the bed, soft grunts and curses lost in each other’s lips as they shudder through their shared orgasm.

  
Other times, when they crave something more physical, Brock will unceremoniously shove a hand down Jack’s pants and have him do the same. It’ll occasionally end with Brock on his knees, gaunt cheeks hollowed as he works his lips sluggishly up and down Jack’s cock, Jack’s usually strong knees trembling with a huge hand covering his mouth and barely holding the moans back.

  
Tonight is especially rare. Brock guides Jack to the bed and clumsily climbs atop, twisting onto his back and spreading his knees in invitation. Jack immediately understands and joins, fitting between Brock’s legs and leaning down for a soft kiss. Brock’s lips respond eagerly, one hand in the sheets and the other threaded through the curls resting on the nape of Jack’s neck. It escalates from there, Jack roughly yanking Brock’s worn jeans and briefs down, knees raising up one at a time to pull them down to his calves. Soon enough, a bottle of lube fished out of a drawer has been haphazardly tossed onto the comforter, and two of Jack’s thick fingers were twisting inside Brock. Brock grunted, a rough noise in his throat.

  
“Opening you up for my cock,” Jack breathes, forehead pressed to the other’s.

  
Brock nods, his breathing harsher. “Yeah, yeah, c'mon. Need it, get it in me.”

  
Another digit presses into Brock’s entrance, all three hooking, probing upward, coaxing a strangled moan from him.

  
“Three’s enough, c'mon Jack, fuck me.”

  
Jack doesn’t protest, knowing Brock always liked the burn that came when being stretched around a thick cock. Knows because the brunet would always gasp it when Jack bottomed out. Jack pulls his fingers from Brock’s hole and shakily undoes his fly, easing his cock out. He groans as his fingers slide up and down the shaft, slicking it and guiding it to Brock’s entrance. He sucks in a breath and presses forward, Brock’s hole unyielding until Jack shoves his cockhead past the resistance of the barely slack muscle. Brock’s head falls back against the pillow in response.

  
“Yeah, Jackie, stretch me out….”

  
Jack’s eyes are dark, fixed on Brock’s flushed expression. He marvels at him, awed by how something so angry and destructive came apart so easily in his hands, blossomed into something open and raw and beautiful. He swears to remember this, but never does.

  
The sex is good, rapidly escalating into harsh thrusts, nails digging into flesh, shared gasps and throaty moans echoing through the room. It’s rushed, ending minutes later with Brock twitching upward, trembling through his release and painting his stomach with hot stripes of white. Jack soon follows, thrusting in deep, pressing his sweat slick forehead to Brock’s shoulder and groaning through his release. They pant quietly for a minute, coming down together into a warm afterglow. The shared moment doesn’t last long, with Brock gracelessly shoving Jack off and sighing to himself.

  
They don’t exchange words for a while, reaching that companionable quiet once more. Stuffy clothes are discarded carelessly on the floor, and Jack quietly turns to pull Brock into his arms. Brock wrinkles his nose and refuses quietly, the warmth of a human body too much right now. Jack isn’t hurt or disappointed.

  
Brock soon dozes off over the covers, curling in on himself and appearing even smaller to Jack. Jack knows this won’t last for long, with Brock’s limbs undergoing some sort of anatomical Pangea, splaying out every which way and corralling Jack’s huge body to the side of the bed. Jack’s noticed that Brock only does this at his place, keeping his body parts close to himself any other time they’d doze on missions. Jack likes to think it’s because he feels safe here, but doesn’t ever entertain the thought for long. They haven’t ever talked about what this was, and probably never will.

  
But as long as he wakes up to see Brock’s peaceful face in the morning, Jack’s okay with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me @rumrollins on Tumblr for more Hydra Husbands emotions


End file.
